Rising Sun Valley skwila

Anselm continued drawing close, but his mind continued to travel elsewhere. Inventing scenarios of Etienne --

of his sun-slanted fur being touched, of a woman held in the crook of his slender chest, of his molten gaze softened by an emotion Anselm could never inspire --

No! His teeth grit in an emotion uglier than jealousy alone.

Heda's voice brought him back to the presence. Anselm cast a gaze over her while the pointed edges of her flowering season singed his nose. Vhat? Did someone need to take something from him first before he drew teeth across their hide? Anselm was not the type to wait to be wronged: no, he knew what everyone was capable of.

Vhy do I have to vait for you to take something from me? His yellow eyes held no warmth in them, only a cold revulsion. Vhere is your husband?